


What Their Greed Could Unleash

by ForeverWhimsy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Elven History, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Well of Sorrows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-04-23 05:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverWhimsy/pseuds/ForeverWhimsy
Summary: **Will resume as soon as Unharrowed is finished. Estimated return: March 2019**Evelyn has returned from the Vir’Abelasan with a wealth of Elven knowledge in her head—whispers, screams, and gibberish all overlapping one another in a bidding war for her attention. But the new tenants in her head isn’t the worst part. No, the worst part is how Cullen doesn’t understand why she had to be the one to drink from the Well.Evelyn is hopeful that she can get Cullen to see reason when they’re both sent on a mission to investigate the tremors that are shaking the Deep Roads under the Storm Coast, but the voices in her head are getting louder as she descends deeper into the chasm. She starts to hear things that are scaring her. She starts doing things that aren’t under her control, that she doesn’t even remember doing. What’s going on down here? And can Evie’s team figure it out before the quakes bring down the rock walls around them? Before her time is up?[[OR: What would happen if Mythal’s battle with the Titans isn’t over and the Inquisitor’s wealth of knowledge starts to turn against her the closer they get to the Titan]]





	1. - EVIE -

Evelyn winced as her knees scraped the damp cobblestones. Her thoughts were sluggish, her head swimming with whispers. She looked at her splayed fingers as she still crouched on her hands and knees. She felt a gentle pressure on the small of her back, but she couldn't look up just yet. She simply kneeled there, in the dim corridor, muffled voices floating in and out of her head, as she counted her fingers over and over.

Suddenly a wash of light was thrown over her hands and arms and she knew where she was. A soft hymn filtered in through the open door and reached her seconds before Dorian did. He pulled her to her feet with ease and cradled her close to his chest.

“Festis bei umo canavarum, Evie,” Dorian began, still hugging his dear friend close to him before he continued to rant in Tevene, waving her other companions away.

“Dorian, darling,” Evelyn's voice was hoarse and she took longer than usual to form her words. “Firstly, I have no idea what you're saying. Secondly, I'm fine, just tired.”

“Just that you'll inevitably be the death of me, love.” Dorian gave one final squeeze and releasing her from his hug held her out at arms length by the shoulders to inspect her thoroughly. He hummed thoughtfully. “You seem in tact.” Then his expression hardened and his grey eyes flashed angrily. “You should've waited for me!”

“You know I couldn't, we were pressed for time and you were still studying the ruins we found in the Approach. Trust me, I threw I big enough tantrum for us both.” Evelyn's voice and strength were coming back, but her words were still spoken slowly, deliberately.

“I'm not sure you're capable of a Pavus-worthy tantrum,” he teased.

She smiled weakly at him in response and then stooped down with a heavy sigh to pick up her staff.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” She asked as she stood back up, using the staff for support.

“Something is different. You're very…” he waved his hands about in an effort to find the right word to describe her demeanor. After a brief pause he gave up and spit out, “You're being weird, darling.”

Evelyn didn't answer him immediately. Instead she looped her arm around his and started down the corridor. “Walk me to my room? I promise, I'll explain to everyone in the War Room tomorrow after….” Her voice hitched in her throat and her stomach roiled at just the thought, “after Cullen arrives back at Skyhold”

“No hints? Not even for your favorite mage? You know I keep the best secrets.” He prodded her ribs with his elbow and wiggled his eyebrows.

Evelyn looked over her shoulder into the Great Hall as they neared the door to her chambers. She ran her fingers through her long black curls that had been neatly pinned back, but were now barely held up at all. Of course she would tell Dorian, he was the only one who knew about her whirlwind romance with her commander. Plus, she was dreading Cullen’s response to what had gone down in the Arbor Wilds. She would need her best friend and confidant. She exhaled forcefully. “Just you then, because I know you can keep even the juiciest secrets. Plus, I'll need some advice on how to handle him when he gets home.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Not yet, but soon. So soon.”

 

:::

 

Evelyn graciously accepted the tray of sweet rolls and elfroot tea from the attendant and bid her goodnight before returning to Dorian who was laying propped up on his elbows across her large feather-stuffed bed.

“Explain again, why Morrigan couldn't have done it?”

Evelyn could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant and she loved him for it, but she knew he was disappointed in her, too. She could see it in the thin pull of his lips whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. She could hear it in the almost forced lilt of his jests. The guilt and fear she felt over Cullen’s reaction to her hitching her life to an old Elvhen god paled ever so slightly when she turned away from the roaring fire and saw Dorian in a full frown.

“Evie…”

Evelyn sighed and felt her whole body sag with exhaustion. Moving was difficult, thinking was difficult, and speaking was nearly impossible. Ever since the Well of Sorrows she seemed to have a foggy muttering in her head, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. It felt like a wet blanket had been laid across her mind and her own thoughts were fighting to get through. She pinched the bridge of her nose and remembered all the arguments she had made while standing at the edge of the rippling Well and all the counter-arguments Cassandra, Sera, and Cole shot back at her. Cassandra, always concerned about her safety and the well-being of the Inquisition. Sera, forever afraid of anything magical. But Cole…she should’ve listened to Cole.

She became vaguely aware that Dorian was talking to her and she tried her best to dampen the roar in her head.

“…seems ghoulish, if you ask me. I know it’s too late to change things, but darling.” He had crawled off the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of her, his hands gently cupping each side of her face. “Evie, you cannot tell me that this hasn’t changed you.” He looked deep into her eyes as if searching for another person, a stowaway hidden in the depths of her emerald orbs.

She felt herself cave in to the physical and mental exhaustion, her tired body crumbling against Dorian’s strong form. He held her as she cried desperately into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He stroked her hair and let her continue to sob for a moment. Eventually be broke the silence, “If I’d known we’d be doing this, I wouldn’t have worn my good robes.”

Evelyn snorted. She pulled away from Dorian’s embrace and pawed at her tear stained face. “What have I done, Dorian?”

“Let’s look at it differently for a moment. What have you gained?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him,. She complied, sitting with her chin resting on her hand looking at her friend.

“What?”

“Humor me and my studious tendencies. What have you gained? What’s changed since you drank or bathed in or absorbed—whatever you did—this Well?” The area above his nose crinkled slightly like it always did when he’s reading something new. His learning face, Evelyn liked to call it.

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve gained much. It feels like this great, heavy fog in my head all the time.” She thought a moment longer. “But it’s loud. A loud fog.”

“And you can’t pull out anything from this fog? It’s supposed to be all the Elven knowledge ever gleaned, right? Maybe you just have to focus. So focus.” His voice was excited now, no hint of disappointment to be heard. He stared at her impatiently, ready for any answer.

“I’m sorry, focusing only seems to make it harder to focus.”

“Such a way with words, no wonder you’re our fearless leader,” he said dryly.

She pushed him half heartedly.

He ignored the playful gesture and continued his musing, “To have access to all of the Elven knowledge…you could right everything that Tevinter ever did to the elves.”

Evelyn jumped to her feet and yelped, “Oh! Dorian!”

“I’m not used to hearing my name yelled like that from a woman. I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish.” He cocked one eyebrow, wiggling it when she didn’t answer immediately.

“No, Dorian, listen! When we were at the Temple, Abelas, the Elvhen sentinel, told us something about Tevinter and the ancient elves!” Evelyn’s breaths were coming in uneven heaves.

“I’m thrilled to hear it, but you need to sit before you keel over.” He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down. “Are you okay?”

She waved him off and continued, “You’re not responsible. I mean, Tevinter’s not responsible. Tevinter didn’t destroy Arlathan.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide as he considered the implications of what she was telling him, but they widened even further when Evelyn fell backward completely unconscious.

 

:::

 

People were talking in her bedroom. A lot of people. They were all talking over one another, almost as if they were arguing, which was odd because they didn’t sound particularly angry. The only thing that sounded angry were the clanging armor boots that seemed to be pacing up and down her room, growing louder and angrier as they neared her bed and then becoming soft and distant. She listened for a few repetitions, trying to figure out why someone would be arguing in her chambers while she slept…all she remembered was speaking with Dorian. They were supposed to have spent the evening planning on what to tell Cullen when he arrived from the Arbor Wilds, but…she must’ve fallen asleep because she only remembered talking about the Vir’Abelasan.

The pacing continued. Who could that be? There’s no way Cullen could’ve made it back in one night, not without using the Eluvian and he’d never do that. There were days she still couldn't believe they were together, considering his residual fear of all things magical. He was almost worse than Sera. Evelyn understood of course, he’d been through so much at the hands of so many blood mages; but that didn’t make it hurt any less when he’d called Solas, “Mage” for the first four months of the Inquisition. She knew he was trying to break the habit now, for her. That was something. That had to mean _something_.

The pacing still continued. Creators, make that damned noise stop. She propped herself up on her elbow and chucked a pillow in the direction of the most recent stomp. “I don’t know what you're doing in here, but if you could just do it quietly, that would be great!”

Cullen’s mouth hung open for a moment before he rushed to her bedside, his lips crashing into hers in a desperate, hungry kiss. One of his hands wound into her hair, cradling the back of her head, the other splayed across her back pulling her up into a sitting position and closer to him. The kiss seemed endless, wonderful, grateful, lustful…and endless. When he finally pulled away his cheeks had a faint blush. He rested his forehead against hers and laughed quietly. “Hello, Evie.”

“What was that for? How are you here? Why are you stomping? Hello.” Evelyn felt a rush of affection bloom in her chest when he pulled away, rubbing at his neck, his blush pinker than just a moment ago.

“I left the Arbor Wilds early; I left as soon as I heard. I nearly rode my horse to death to get here. Don’t worry, Fadewhisper is fine.” He added quickly.

Her concern quickly faded into an amalgamation of negative emotions that sat in her gut like a bezoar, stubborn and unnerving, demanding attention. “Cullen, I never—I didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I—I wanted to tell you myself.”

Cullen’s eyebrows drew down into a deep curve. “I don’t understand, Evie. You’ve been ill. Quite ill for days. Today is the first day you’ve even woken. How did you plan on telling me yourself?” After a beat he asked,“Is there something else you need to tell me?”

Evelyn worried her bottom lip between her teeth and Cullen sat down on the edge of her bed, placing his hand on her thigh. “Evie, please, just tell me. It can’t be worse than what I’m imagining.”

“Have you been briefed on what happened inside the Temple of Mythal?” Her voice was shaky.

“No, Leliana and Josephine wanted to wait until you were able to attend.”

She swallowed hard, focusing on shutting out the overlapping voices she could now hear almost clearly. “There was an ancient Elvhen artifact. The Vir’Abelasan—the Well of Sorrows.”

She continued to tell him everything, the feeling in the pit of her stomach growing more and more agitated as Cullen’s face became stonier the longer she talked. By the end he had pulled his hand away and he wasn’t even looking at her; instead, he was inspecting every scratch and dent in his boots. After she finished she was met with an uncomfortable silence.

“Cullen, please, say something.” She felt the familiar sting of the beginning of tears. The pain of rejection already budding, with righteous anger close at its heels. If Cullen was going to reject her over what was essentially a new type of magic, then she’d rather be angry than hurt. She could work with angry. Angry felt good. Hurt felt useless. Hurt left her crying in bed for days at a time. No, she’d rather be angry.

Cullen sighed heavily, scrubbing both hands down his stubbled jaw and Evelyn had a flashing memory of kissing his jawline, the stubble prickling her lips. She followed his jaw down his neck, onto his chest. She continued stringing kisses along his body. That was the first time they’d ever made love in his quarters. When was the last? Could she even remember? Would she ever have another chance? “Cullen, please…” her voice quivered.

“Let me get this straight,” the words were clipped and spoken in a harsher tone than she was used to hearing from him, “You willingly leashed yourself to a dead god…a spirit.” His last words were almost whispered.

Evelyn felt her stomach drop and her heart start beating wildly against her rib cage. “No…no, it’s not like that.” She implored.

“What is it like?” He looked at her, hopeful that he had misunderstood. That she wasn’t a twisted, new version of an abomination.

Evelyn opened her mouth to answer, but finding no words, shut it again. Avoiding looking at his usually warm amber eyes. The darkness of his accusation swirling in them was too much for her to bear.

“If you’re feeling up to it, they’d like to have a War Room Meeting at 11 Bells.” With that, he was striding across the room, down her stairs, and out the door.

She flinched when she heard it slam.

 

:::

 

Evelyn pushed the egg around her plate with her fork before dropping it to the table with a clatter. Solas had given his best guess as to what caused her sudden illness—the Vir’Abelasan. Her body was adjusting to the influx of information, of magic, and essentially a new entity residing in her head. Or, at least, that’s what he postulated. It made sense enough, although it didn’t do much to quell her fears about Cullen’s acceptance. It was equally possible he was the reason she couldn’t eat as was the Vir’Abelasan.

As if reading her thoughts, Varric broke the sounds of silence and muffled chewing with a question directed right at her. “So, Bright Eyes, what did you do to Curly? Our respectable Commander has been walking around in a foul-mooded stupor all week.”

Evelyn choked on the orange juice she’d been drinking. “I’m sorry, what did I do?”

“I just mean, I thought you’d know. You are inner circle and all.” Varric’s eyes sparkled mischievously across the table and his smile broadened as Evelyn opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say.

‘Varric, don’t you have a new issue of Swords and Shields coming out soon?” Dorian quarried, stirring his cup of tea pointedly.

Taking the hint, Varric changed the subject and filled them in on the upcoming issue of his serial. At one point Varric was describing a particularly passionate scene he’d found difficult to write. Blackwall ended up excusing himself, red faced all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears, while Dorian and Varric howled with laughter. Evelyn shared a few smiles with them, but over the last few days she’d been focused on only two things. One, how she could make Cullen understand that she wasn’t a possessed abomination ready to kill the entire Inquisition and two, honing her listening skills to pick out snippets of information and history from the constant stream of conversation in her head. Sometimes she was lucky and the noise seemed to fade into the background, but other times it was a thunderous roar. She had yet to determine what caused this discrepancy.

“War Table time, wish me luck.” She bent down and kissed Dorian on the cheek. With a quick wave to Varric she headed toward the War Room, but not before she heard Dorian admonish Varric for his lack of subtlety.

Her complexion had nearly cleared itself of its blush by the time she reached the War Room. So, Varric knew, marvelous. She inhaled the cold mountain air that had leached its way into the hall through the gaping hole that no one seemed bothered to repair. The icy intake steeled her resolve and she opened the door expecting her three advisors to be waiting on her, as always. Not today. Of course, not today. There he stood, alone in the room, with his back to her, clad in his silver Orlesian armor (“It’s better quality!” He had yelped when she teased him about it, poking his ribs as she helped him remove the heavy chest plate…). The black feathered coat hung around his broad frame as he leaned over the table supported by his hands, his head hung low over the map.

She could drink him in for days; the ache that had taken residence in her since his swift arrival back at Skyhold flowed through her as if she were adrift in the ocean. A wave of loss would hit her whenever she saw him, knowing she was the reason they hadn’t spoken in four days; but just seeing him seemed to quell the pain ever so slightly, especially if he was smiling his half-hearted smirk, tugging in that familiar way at the scar above his lip. But inevitably, she’d realize he wasn’t smiling at her, that it had been days since he’d smiled at her, and the despair would hit her all over again.

They’d only been together for a few months…five, if she remembered correctly. But every moment they’d spent together had been precious and full of such laughter. The several months before he’d pushed her up against the battlements were full of uneasy questions and uncomfortable discussions about how he felt about mages, but more often than not, he always surprised her with his open-mindedness and willingness to change. At least, until she’d agreed to let him accompany her to Samson’s camp at the Shrine of Dumat. His changes had been subtle at first, a shift in tone when speaking about Lyrium and magic in general; but as time wore on, his patience seemed to wear thing with the mages she’d brought on as allies. She’d found him once reprimanding a young mage for casting a fire mine spell too close to Skyhold’s outer wall. It seemed a perfectly safe distance to her, but Evelyn saw a flash of what he must’ve been like as a Templar Knight. She’d interrupted his speech, deflecting his anger and instructing the mage boy to gather his things and meet with Fiona for further instruction. Cullen had stalked off in the opposite direction, only to come back a couple hours later with profuse apologies, showering her with desperate kisses and begging her forgiveness. She’d thought they’d put it behind them, but now Evelyn realized that maybe that was the beginning of him changing his mind about her.

Cullen brought his fist down swiftly against the woodcarved table. Evelyn heard herself gasp in shock before she even thought to stifle it. He whirled around and stared at her, wild eyes rimmed with a slight purple shadow as though he hadn't slept well in weeks. Maybe this affected him just as much as it affected her. Or maybe he simply hadn’t slept well. They were on the precipice of their biggest battle, after all.

“S-sorry,” Evelyn stuttered. “I didn’t mean to…” but she wasn’t sure what she didn’t mean to do. She very much meant to bask in his presence while she could.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when the door behind her opened framing Leliana, Josephine, and Varric.

“We do apologize,” Josephine rushed in, her face already buried in her parchment board. “There’s been a development; Cullen, I already spoke briefly with you about this, but Leliana thought it might be prudent to include Varric in our plans as well. He is more familiar with the Dwarven customs.”

Cullen hadn’t broken eye contact with Evelyn throughout her entire speech; when she made herself look away, she found Varric sitting on a stool at the edge of the table, hands pressed excitedly into his knees, eyes volleying back and forth between her and the Commander.

Her fingers snagged in her curls as Evelyn ran her fingers through the long mess. “Sorry, Josie, what?” She shook her head slowly, befuddled.

“We’ll have to put our quest for Corypheus on hold,” Leliana informed her.

The voices swirling in her head seemed to get louder when Leliana mentioned Corypheus, but she silently swore at them to shut up and tried to focus on what she was being told.

“We’ve been contacted by King Harrowmont; he has specifically requested the immediate assistance of the Inquisition. There have been earthquakes shaking the Deep Roads and disrupting the Lyrium trade.” Josephine continued.

“Wait, wait, wait. King Harrowmont contacted us because of earthquakes? There have been quakes in the Deep Roads for ages! The miners have always found a way to work around them. My brother used to sing their praises until he was blue in the face,” Varric’s incredulity made his voice crack at the end.

“We’ve been appraising this issue for some time, the frequency and severity of the earthquakes have reached a level that is no longer sustainable. In a few weeks time, it will directly affect our own ability to receive Lyrium from the Deep Roads.” Josephine’s worried face cantered to the side as she studied Evelyn. Thankfully, she just continued on. “They’ve requested our best team and as many capable builders we can spare to help solve the problem.”

“Builders?” Evelyn and Varric asked in unison.

“They believe the cause of the earthquakes originates deep below the surface, even farther down than the Deep Roads. We’ll need builders to stabilize passageways and bridges to—” Cullen swallowed, “to allow Evelyn and her team to reach their destination.”

Silence filled the room as everyone absorbed what this meant. Darkspawn, Blight sickness, no daylight for weeks on end. Not to mention there was no telling what Corypheus could manage to do while the Inquisition came to a standstill during their trip underground.

“So,” Varric said, swinging his feet idly around his stool, “Who are we taking?” 

 


	2. - VARRIC -

The War Room meeting lasted longer than they usually did. Or maybe he just felt like that because this time he was inside. At least he’d had some entertainment. Curly and Bright Eyes squirmed and shifted throughout their entire meeting, refusing to make eye contact, stumbling over their words whenever they had to address one another or even speak about one another. He’d have to fix that. The cog wheels in his mind spun slowly at first, grinding against one another, rusty from disuse. It’d been a while since he’d planned any shenanigans. When was the last time? Hawke and Anders? He groaned and prayed that this time his meddling had a happier ending.

They’d decided to take Dorian, Blackwall, and Cole in addition to himself and the Inquisitor. Going into the Deep Roads always made him a little uncomfortable, but venturing into the dank, darkspawn ridden tunnels with two rogues, two mages, and only one warrior set his teeth on edge. He’d argued that they’d need more brute strength against any darkspawn horde that outnumbered them, he’d practically begged even, but the Inquisitor was set on leaving Cassandra and Bull to protect Skyhold.

Varric understood. Of course he understood. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He opened the door to his small room and was surprised to see a fire already blazing in the tiny stone hearth. His brow furrowed as his gaze followed the flickering shadows until it landed on a large, sparkling set of armor. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Commander?”

The commander hadn’t looked up when he entered. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him, back hunched, elbows resting on his knees, his hulking frame nearly swallowing the chair he sat on. This was the posture of a man who was broken; Varric hadn’t seen him like this since directly following Meredith. He fought back the shudder that the memory called forth.

Cullen didn’t answer right away.

Instead of prying, Varric busied himself by rummaging through a low cabinet, cursing as glass bottles knocked into one another with an unceremonious clatter until he found the right one. He poured two short tumblers of the amber liquid and, crossing the room to where Cullen sat boring a hole into the floor with sunken eyes, shoved one of the tumblers into his clasped hands.

Cullen downed the entire glass with a sputter and then descended into a harsh coughing fit. When he’d recovered he looked at Varric with red, glistening eyes, “What was that?”

“Ah, probably should’ve warned you,” Varric took a large gulp without so much as clearing his throat. “A gift from a friend in the Merchant’s Guild. Dwarven liquor can be a bit…acerbic.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Cullen rubbed at his chest as though the liquid had truly burned a hole through bone, skin, and armor.

“So, not that I don’t love unscheduled visits from the esteemed Commander of the Inquisition…,” Varric began gently, trying to emphasize the playful lilt in his voice.

Cullen’s face darkened immediately.

Varric sat on the bed across from Cullen and sipped on his liquor, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I can’t let her go down there alone.” His words were slow, broken, and barely above a whisper.

He knew he shouldn’t take advantage of the commander, especially not when he’s so obviously hurting, but Varric had to get the details and this would be so much easier than trying to pry them from Dorian second-hand.

“She’s not going alone,” Varric baited, playing devil’s advocate.

The look that earned him made him want to shrink away, but he held strong, not breaking eye contact.

Eventually Cullen conceded, “No, she’s not. But you were right in there. One warrior is not enough in the Deep Roads.”

Varric chewed on the inside of his cheek, there wouldn’t be a better time to get inside his head, piece apart what’s got him all twisted up and not sleeping. He inhaled slowly and asked, “But that’s not really what you’re worried about, is it?”

Again, Cullen’s withering glare made his insides curl, but then the commander seemed to shrink so small that Varric thought he might blow away at the briefest of winds. “No,” Cullen answered after a beat. “She’s…,” he trailed off. “Do you know what she’s done?”

He took a large swallow of the liquor—too large judging by the burning he felt throughout his entire torso—but he needed the time to think over his response. Yes, he knew about the Well, most of Evelyn’s companions knew by now; but what he needed to know was how Cullen truly felt about it. “The Well?” Saying as little as possible should hopefully win him at least some information from Cullen; someone had to fill in the gaps he was intentionally leaving in their conversation.

Cullen grunted in response.

Well, shit.

Varric was about to switch tactics when Cullen began to speak again.

“I don’t know what to do, Varric.” He took the second tumbler before Varric had finished refilling it, sloshing the liquid onto the rug. Downing it with a groan of discomfort, he continued, “I feel like I’m of two minds. Part of me is terrified for her. She has this new…ability,” the word sounded as though it were difficult for him to say, “She seems so distant since she came back. I don’t mean from me…that’s a different point altogether. I mean from you all, even Dorian.” Varric couldn’t help but note the Cullen’s tone of jealousy when he mentioned Dorian, but he continued his tirade none the less, “and at any point in time this ability, this power could…” his voice gave out and Varric didn’t have the heart to press him for more. He patiently waited and poured Cullen a third tumbler of the Dwarven spirit which the man downed with minimal coughing.

After another moment of silence he began again, so quietly that Varric had to lean in to hear him clearly. “The other part of me is terrified _of_ her. She’s willingly attached her life to some elven god or spirit or de—,” he hiccoughed, “demon.” Cullen stood suddenly and hurled the empty tumbler into the fire, the alcoholic remnants clinging to the glass causing a roar of flame and crackle alike. “How am I to know if what she asks of me is a favor for my—for Evie or for whatever abomination is driving her thoughts and actions now?”

“Ah.” Varric could count the number of times he’d been rendered speechless on one hand. Hearing the commander liken Evelyn to an abomination took any words that had been forming straight from his mouth. He had nothing to say. He only hoped that he could keep Cullen talking until his brain could find a way to spin what Evelyn had done into something the Cullen could understand, into something that sounded nothing like she was a walking, talking abomination-Inquisitor.

He watched as Cullen stalked back and forth across the small room as though he were a caged lion, yearning for freedom; but the freedom Cullen yearned for wasn’t a freedom Varric could give him. It was a freedom that Cullen would have to find on his own. A freedom from fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of intimacy, and most of all, fear of magic. “Commander—,” Varric started tentatively.

“Cullen.” He all but snapped at Varric.

Varric nodded and began again, “Cullen, while I don’t think we can solve the issue of Evelyn’s…impulsivity…tonight, we can certainly solve the issue of keeping her and everyone else safe during our journey into the Deep Roads.”

Cullen met Varric’s gaze. His eyes, wild and uncertain, now had the smallest amount of hope if Varric looked hard enough. It tugged at the heartstrings he vehemently denied having. “We need another warrior, two if you can get her Inquistorialness to agree.”

Cullen opened his mouth to object, but Varric cut him off.

“I know, we’d be taking good warriors away from Skyhold and possibly leaving them open to attack, but hear me out. You’re leaving your entire army here. We’re only taking a dozen or so builders with us. They aren’t even part of the main forces.”

“I’m leaving them here? _I’m_ going?”

“Caught that did ya?” Varric smirked. “I think it would be best if you and Bull accompanied us to the Deep Roads. With the Seeker leading the forces in your stead and the entire Inquisition army behind her, I have full faith that if anything should happen while we’re gone, we will return to an intact castle with minimal casualties.”

Cullen reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck until the skin grew pink.

“Come on, Curly. Are you really going to leave your girl down in the Deep Roads without your sword at her back?” Varric knew it was a cheap shot, but he hated the Deep Roads. Everything always went wrong in the Deep Roads. Hell, the last time he was there, he woke an evil darkspawn Magister and look how well that turned out.

Cullen groaned and for a moment looked as though he were debating punching Varric; luckily he seemed to come down on the side of pro-Varric when he said, “Very well, I will inform Leliana and Josephine that I will be accompanying the party. Bull as well.”

“Good, I’m feeling better about this trip already.” Varric grinned and offered Cullen what was left of the Dwarven liquor.

“Oh, Maker, I best not. I’ve got…packing to do.”

Varric chuckled and waved goodbye as Cullen walked toward the door, noticeably trying to maintain his balance.

 

:::

 

After making sure Cullen made it to his quarters unscathed—from a distance of course, no need to hurt the Commander’s manly feelings—Varric decided to inform Bull that he should start packing as well. After all, they were leaving at dawn and Varric’s last minute change to the roster wouldn’t be the reason they were late. He didn’t need to give King Harrowmont any more reasons to hate him, the fact that he was in the Merchant’s Guild gave him enough reason, not to mention the fact that he was a surfacer and an Andrastian to boot.

The sun was low on the horizon and the summer breeze was turning cool with the loss of light. Bull should be back in his quarters by now. Varric walked through the Herald’s Rest, eyes sweeping through to make sure Bull hadn’t decided to stay late in the tavern. Bull wasn’t in his usual spot, so Varric began his trudge up the two flights of stairs toward the Qunari’s quarters, but stopped short when he recognized Evelyn sitting at a far table on the top floor of the tavern sitting across from…Blackwall.

Blackwall had his back to Varric, so instead of approaching them he simply quirked one eyebrow at Evelyn in mild bemusement. Her eyes flashed to him and she waited for Blackwall to drink deeply from his mug of ale before she nodded to him. Satisfied that Evelyn was okay, he continued on his way.

It was only a short walk to Bull’s quarters and he was still immersed in his thoughts about Cullen and Evelyn when he knocked heartily on the large door in front of him. It was only when the noise stopped that he realized a ruckus had been playing backdrop to his thoughts.

Oh, sh—

The door swung wide open to reveal a wholly too naked Bull.

“Varric, my man!” He crowed happily. “What can we do you for?” He tossed a look over his shoulder at Dorian who was scrambling to wrap his robe around his waist.

“Came to take notes? Bull’s descriptions not good enough for you?” Dorian groused as he came to join them at the door, one hand clutching the robe tightly to him.

Varric had the decency to blush, but he wasn’t decent enough to stifle the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “No, no,” he eventually got out once the laughter died down. “I apologize to you both,” he fought back a second round of giggles as he looked between Bull’s unabashed grin and Dorian’s glower. “I only came by to bring you news about tomorrow’s departure, the Inquisitor has changed her mind, or will change her mind. Tiny’s coming with us.”

Varric noticed Dorian’s lips twitch as though he were fighting against a smile, but when he saw Varric watching his sour expression quickly righted itself.

“Ah! You hear that?” Bull slapped Dorian’s backside and Varric was reminded how profoundly he was intruding on their time together.

“Anyway, thought you’d like to know sooner rather than later. Sorry to interrupt your capers,” Varric chuckled again as he started to walk away.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” Bull called out after him. He just waved a hand without turning around and kept walking, but not before he heard Dorian mumble something, to which Bull’s robust voice answered, “What? I’ve never had a dwarf before.”


	3. - EVIE -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling to the Deep Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY! Some health stuff came up and writing fell by the way side, but I am back on track again. The next chapter for Greed is already half written, so yay! Again, so many apologies! 
> 
> If you’re following my other story...there’s an update coming for that one soon, too. The next chapter for Unharrowed is being a creative nightmare. I’ve re-written it like five times. So, hopefully this one will stick.

The sun had yet to crest over the horizon, its rays stretched out the behind the mountain, leaving a soft pink outline against the navy sky. Evelyn loved early mornings at Skyhold. Nearly everyone who would call on her or order her around was still sleeping. Before the dawn was her time for solitude bereft of all responsibilities.

“Inquisitor!”

But not this morning. No, this morning she was helping pack the caravan of wagons that would be accompanying them to the Deep Roads. She didn’t even get her elfroot tea this morning. She trudged down the main steps out of the castle and headed toward the stables.

“You know, Blackwall, you really shouldn’t be shouting. Many of our esteemed nobility are catching up on their beauty sleep,” Evelyn mocked, the drowsiness still evident in her tone.

“Apparently the nobility aren’t the only one’s missing their beauty sleep…” he mumbled and jut his chin out, signaling for her to look behind her.

Standing before her clad in an aubergine dressing robe and slippers, clutching a canister of steaming liquid for dear life was Dorian. Behind Dorian stood Bull, lively as ever, carrying six suitcases, three under each robust arm.

Evelyn felt herself laugh; a proper laugh that made her muscles ache and her eyes water. She’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh like that. Dorian wobbled at the sound, forcing Bull to drop one armful of luggage to steady him. “None of that, Kadan. Maybe Boss’ll let you sleep on the wagon. Speakin’ of, is that where all these go?”

“Yeah, personal luggage in that one, food and water in that one,” Evelyn pointed to the two wagons between the stables and the main gates. “But Bull…” she started slowly, “I thought we talked about you staying to help protect Skyhold in case, well, in case shit goes down.”

Bull’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Well, these are all his.” He chucked them into the back of the wagon one by one, earning him a deepening scowl from Dorian with every harsh thud. Bull stared at him, daring him to say something. Dorian kept silent, drainingthe last of his morning tea with a soft sigh. ‘This one is mine.” He pulled an extra pair of smalls from his pocket. “Didn't you hear? Cullen made some kind of Commander-decree. He's ordering more warriors. Didn't think your rogue and mage squadron would hold up,” he couldn't keep the pride of being chosen out of voice.

“Oh, did he?” She scowled. “So whore the lucky winners?”

“Me and the Commander hisself.” Bull was still beaming.

Oh, Maker. Weeks trapped in the Deep Roads with Cullen. This was either the best or the worst thing that could've happened to Evie. She sighed heavily, unable to craft a response and instead changed the subject. “It’s going to be a long day of riding if I don’t get some tea.” She started toward the kitchens, but was quickly stopped by Josephine.

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor. There’s no time. You must be going. The itinerary planned for your party to be gone by first light.” Josephine looked up at the sky and then leveled at Evelyn. “I’m sorry, you’re already late.”

She cursed under her breath as Josephine repacked the wagon, organizing the mess that Bull had made.

“I may honestly kill one of you if—”

She wasn’t sure how she’d missed his arrival, but Cullen was there; smelling of armor oil and embrium, his damp curls clinging to the spot above his ear. Her stomach clenched as he walked toward her.

“I…,” he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the other was holding something, but Evelyn couldn’t take her eyes off his face long enough to see what it was. “I thought you might forget.” He pushed a large, warm canister into her hands. Their fingers brushing together as the canister switched owners. The smell of elfroot tea was potent enough to seep through the cap. He always did let it steep too long. She smiled fondly.

“Oh, Cullen,” her words were breathy. “I—,” she began, but he was already retreating, the early morning sun reflecting a rainbow of color in the pauldrons of his feathered coat.

 

:::

 

All of her ached. The deep, feel-it-in-your-bone ache she only felt after a full day of riding. It wasn’t right that she still became road weary after riding on her horse after only seven or eight hours. Beside her Dorian’s mare pranced blithely along while he sat atop her, straight backed and laughing as he needled Blackwall about his opinions on some of their other companions. Dorian’s stiff and sour impersonation of Solas pulled an airy chuckle from her tired body.

He caught her glance and must have noticed the way she held the reins to her destrier as though they added an insurmountable amount of dead weight. “Commander!” Dorian’s voice was silky smooth, but still held a note of authority, no doubt a skill he picked up from watching his father. “Might we call it a night a little early?” He cast another sidelong glance at Evelyn.

Cullen’s scowled, but as more and more voices among the crowd threw in their agreement with the Tevinter mage, he couldn’t help but acquiesce. “Fine, fine. We’ll ride again at dawn.”

“Ever the optimist,” Dorian teased only loud enough for Evelyn to hear.

After only a few more minutes of riding they came upon a suitable clearing for camp; one side was backed up against the river they’d been following to the entrance into the Deep Roads, the other side was mostly surrounded by a thin line of trees. The camp seemed to explode into all manners of liveliness as soon as the caravan stopped. Cullen was instructing his soldiers on guard rotations, Varric and Dorian had begun setting up the tents, scouts had gone off in several different directions to ensure the party’s safety, but Evelyn still sat upon her horse. Well, laid upon her horse, was more accurate.

“My lady?” Blackwall inquired.

She groaned a response.

“Is everything alright?” He walked to the front of her dusty blue horse to look her in the eye.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and sighed. “It’s these elves in my head and all their stupid mumbling. It’s downright exhausting.”

“I can only imagine, my lady,” he thumbed at the helmet he held in his hands nervously. “Can I help you down?”

She gave a half a smile and reached out her hand. In one swift movement, Blackwall’s hands encircled her waist and swung her, setting her feet onto the ground with ease.

Slight dizzy from the movement, she leaned into him, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “Um, thanks.” She patted his shoulders with both hands and walked toward Dorian, who was eyeing them curiously as Varric tried to capture his attention by batting him with tent rod.

“What was all that about?” He asked as she neared them.

“Just being nice, I think.”

Dorian hummed at her and returned his attention back to Varric and the tent.

 

:::

 

The voices in her head had quieted since they’d made camp. Riding quietly along the road with few people to interrupt her inner monologue made it the optimum time for an eruption of elven gods talking in her head, or whatever the hell she was hearing. Along the road she’d heard whisper laid on top of whisper, unable to make out most of what was said. She did, however, manage to catch the phrases “pillars of earth,” and “all will fall,” which left her with a distinct feeling of unease throughout her ride. In fact, much of the Well of Sorrows gibberish she managed to understand—given that a lot of it was just incoherent muttering—left her feeling uneasy. For this reason alone she was more than thankful for Dorian asking if they could stop.

They were all gathered around three campfires. Leliana’s scouts had laid claim to one at the head of the camp, ready to silently take to the woods to mount their defense; Cullen along with the inquisition soldier’s which weren’t currently standing guard were sitting around another; that left the third—and largest, heaven forbid Dorian catch chill—to Evelyn, Dorian, Blackwall, Varric, and Cole.

Evelyn had forgotten Cole had been chosen to accompany them until he had popped up beside her, whispering in her ear with cold breath, “Fear burns brightly, like a child clinging to his mother after a bad dream. So many dreams.” His voice became more pained as he carried on. “Away, away. I’ll open my eyes and you’ll be gone!”

She cleared her throat before admonishing softly, “Cole, that isn’t nice. You know he doesn’t like it when you listen.” Her eyes traveled slowly across the camp to rest on Cullen’s back, his shoulders relaxed as he laughed with his men.

“But he wants you to know—”

She cut him off, “If he wants me to know, he can tell me.” Realizing the sharpness of her tone and the stunned look on the boy’s face, she added “Thank you, though, Cole. I appreciate you trying to help.”

“I want to help. You’re both so…loud.”

She just smiled and kept eating the stew that had been warmed over the fire.

It wasn’t long before Blackwall excused himself to his tent for an early evening and Cole followed shortly after. After the sounds from their shared tent had quieted down, Evie looked up from the fire to see three sets of curious eyes staring at her.

“What?”

“What in the void is going on with you and Blackwall?” Dorian demanded.

At the same time, Varric much more calmly asked, “Any new developments between you and our esteemed Commander?”

Bull’s eyes seemed to bounce jovially between the three of them before he simply added, “Just spill.”

“You three are worse than my Nana’s knitting circle,” she remarked dryly.

They continued to stare at her, hungry for information.

“Fine, yes. What do you want to know? Blackwall? I don’t know. Ever since the whole Well thing and Cullen more-or-less disowning me, he’s been very…attentive.”

Dorian snorted into his cup of tea.

“Not like that,” she scowled. “Just…there. I know I shouldn’t be taking advantage of his attentions and I am doing my best to not give him any false hope, but Cullen’s actions over the last week have really…let’s just say it’s nice to have someone notice me.”

“Good god, Evie.”

Evie could tell by the look on Dorian’s face that he greatly disapproved of her reveling in Blackwall’s attention.

“Well, wait a minute,” Bull began thoughtfully, “I’m not saying she should encourage Blackwall’s behavior, but it is possible that what they’re doing will show Cullen the error of his ways and that he has something worth fighting for that he may very well lose.”

Varric guffawed, “Hey Tiny, your Ben-Hassrath is showing.”

“So no news on the Cullen front, then?” Dorian plowed over the other two’s conversation before they could begin debating the merits of their favored style of spying.

“He ignored me for a week, brought me tea this morning, then ignored me all day. I don’t even think he knows what he wants,” she leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hand letting the flames color her cheeks.

“If you want to get him alone, now your chance.” Varric leaned lazily against the woodpile and stared pointedly at Cullen who seemed to be headed toward a secluded area of the river to wash off the day’s ride.

Evie’s stomach clenched as she imagined following him to the river and all the ways that conversation could play out. A loud, angry fight overheard by the entire camp…amazing make-up sex (probably also overheard by the entire camp)…or most likely some lukewarm nonstarter conversation that solved nothing. Was it even worth the heartache?

“Damn it, Evelyn, do you want him back or not?” Dorian snapped uncharacteristically.

“Of course I do.”

“Then stop debating all the ways this could go wrong and get over there!” He poked at her with one of the smaller sticks off the top of the wood pile.

“Alright, alright!” She stood and smoothed out her tunic. As she began walking toward the darkened riverbank, she heard Bull chastising Dorian for “just wanting a show.” She made a mental note to make him pay for that later.

 

:::

 

Evie still wasn't sure this was a good idea. She and Cullen had to spend Maker knows how long in cramped quarters in the Deep Roads. If she made things worse with him now, the whole trip would be insufferable; not that investigating earthquakes while fighting hordes of dark spawn was a walk in the park. Really, she should just turn around. He hadn’t seen her yet.

But her feet kept carrying her forward. It was a surprisingly short walk before the light from the fires dimmed behind her and the only thing left to light her path was the full moon. Unbidden, her mother’s voice rang in her head, saying, ‘The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course…’. Evie’s heartbeat jackrabbited in her chest at the memory and she inhaled deeply, attempting to calm herself. “But by it’s very nature, it gently influences,” she finished the thought quietly as she rounded the corner and came upon the river bank.

Her pulse began to quicken again at the mere sight of Cullen crouched at the water’s edge, wearing only his trousers and washing what she assumed was his shirt. A smile spread slowly across her face as she watched how meticulously he scraped at the linen. She was certain it was already spotless, but Cullen being Cullen, he had to wash it twice just to make sure.

“Hey—”

He bolted upright and held out his sopping shirt as though it were a weapon.

“Sorry,” Evie tucked a dark curl behind her ear and tried not to blush as his eyes followed her actionintently. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn't,” he assured her, but the tension didn’t leave him. He only lowered the garment and continued to study her. When she didn’t say anything he prompted, “Was there something you needed?” He bent down and buckled his sword around his waist as he waited for her answer.

An interesting question. There were lots of things she needed. She needed all the rifts in Thedas to magically disappear. She needed Corypheus to crawl back into the hole he came from and die. She needed a long, hot bath. But, mostly? Mostly she just wanted Cullen to look at her the way he did ten days ago. “No, not really.”

“Then I should really get back to my washing.”

“Cullen,” her voice was soft, almost broken and it must’ve stirred something in him before he froze, half facing the water, half facing her. Slowly his eyes traveled up from her bare feet, to her slender legs, to her curves, to her neck…his eyes lingered at her mouth, but she wouldn’t speak again. Not until he looked her in the eye. She swallowed heavily and that seemed to prompt his eyes to move upward, finally meeting her emerald gaze. As though their eye contact were an unspoken signal, they both raced toward each other and met in a tangle of arms, lips, and teeth.

After the first wild kiss, the desperation bled out of them and left them with a slow burning passion. Cullen pulled Evie into his chest and wherever his bare skin touched her was lit aflame. Evie was purely giddy. No talking, just the best kind of making up. She knew Cullen would come around eventually. She bit down on a moan as his kisses traveled from her lips and down the column of her throat.He rested his head against the nook of her shoulder for a moment, just breathing her in before he nuzzled his stubble covered jaw against her tender flesh. She had begun to giggle at the sensation when all at once her head was filled with Elvhen chatter and one voice rising above it all, “I AM EMPTY. FILLED WITH NOTHING.”

She wrenched herself from Cullen’s wandering hands and tried to bite back the scream that was rising in her throat. The pain in her head was staggering. She clutched at her ears, trying desperately to block the noise, but that seemed to only amplify the yelling. “I AM EMPTY. FILLED WITH NOTHING.” Over and over, the screaming continued. She couldn’t bare it any longer and she buckled under the pain, falling to her knees and letting out ear splitting scream of her own.

The noise stopped.

No yelling.

No background chatter.

She opened her eyes and saw Cullen, still shirtless, his lips red and kiss-swollen, holding his sword drawn and pointed only a couple feet from where she knelt.

She opened her mouth, but what could she say? The love of her life had gone from kissing her to threatening her life within seconds of each other. Before she had decided on what to say, the bushes behind them rustled and Dorian burst forth. “Evie! What’s wrong?” He rushed to her side, enveloped her in his arms, and shot Cullen a dirty look as the Commander sheathed his sword. “Are you alright? We heard screaming.”

Bull appeared from the path and Evie realized that Dorian hadn’t bothered with the winding path, he had made a straight shot through the brush to reach her as quickly as possible. She hugged her friend tightly and just nodded.

“Would you like to go back to camp?” Bull asked looking between Evie who was standing shakily with Dorian’s help and Cullen who was gathering his things while avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Evie nodded again and left without another word. After all, what could she say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Our adventurers arrive in the Deep Roads and find more trouble than they expected!


End file.
